


Black Out Days

by OatmealCider



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Aftermath, Angst, Conditioning, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Gen, Moral Ambiguity, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-27
Updated: 2014-05-06
Packaged: 2018-01-21 00:30:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1531331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OatmealCider/pseuds/OatmealCider
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of SHIELD's downfall, Steve Rogers attempts to find Bucky Barnes. Bucky will never be the same, yet will it be enough to make Steve to put down his shield for good?<br/>Takes up where The Winter Soldier left off-and attempts a loose lead up to the Age of Ultron.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mouthful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also feel free to listen to this playlist. http://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLuJ3V6fNlB_VTErp7oF664okUnvXM7RiX

The captain had woken up. And the world had gone to hell.  
 _“They said we won. They didn't say what we lost.”_  
And it felt like they really had. Steve managed to stop them, but HYDRA had survived and the damage was done. He shook his head to rid himself of the thought. Steve's steps never faltered in their journey to his new home. The days were growing longer, the weather warm. In truth, Steve had all but moved in with Sam Wilson. Not that he had wanted to burden his friend with the intrusion, but in the wake of SHIELD's downfall, Steve had needed to get the hell out of dodge. In fact, while in hospital Steve's affects were covertly moved to Sam's place.  
His feet slapped the pavement in time with his thoughts, and he went over his last conversation with Peggy in his head. Time had changed her from the woman he knew. Steve took a deep breath of spring air. A warm breeze drying the sweat on his face. Peggy's words made more sense now.“The world has changed.” A blast of cool air swept at his hair. If Peggy had known about HYDRA, if she had found out like Howard had...  
She would be dead.  
As founders of SHIELD, Peggy and Howard had acquired Zola, a top Hydra scientist, to become a part of S.H.I.E.L.D's foundation. Steve couldn't help feeling betrayed. His legs began to burn, but he didn't slow down. He was only a block from Sam's place. Their base of operations. Steve hated the taste in his mouth, now that the lives of his greatest friends were suspect. The world had only ever changed because Peggy and Howard had.  
Steve jumped the fence to the yard before stopping abruptly at the screen door. He grasped for a pair of keys in his pocket. “Sam, I'm back.”  
There was no reply from inside the house.  
Steve proceeded to rattled the screen door open, before throwing his keys down onto the counter. Steve neared the kitchen table, listening to the distant sound of running water.  
His eyes fell immediately to the stack of papers and maps on the table; one manila file standing out amongst the rest.  
A burst of cold air shook the patio windows, and Steve's mind turned to Bucky. He imagined his best friend, young but not. standing darkly amongst the ashes of time.  
 _“Do yourself a favor. Don't read it.” ___Black Widow had said. Steve read it anyway. He didn't do it to contradict Natasha, but he had to know. Steve hadn't even finished the first page before he choked.  
“Jesus Christ.”  
That night, after Director Fury's funeral, Bucky's file was spread out on the table. It stared back at the Captain, expectant, tantalizing, full of death. Steve had hated himself for each line he read. Every new assassination, Hydra's experiments. Steve prayed a thousand prayers for the humanity lost, including Bucky's. By the time the sun had come up that morning, Steve Rogers had not closed his eyes. He wouldn't sleep that next night, or the one after that, or the one after that...  
Steve's throat tightened as he looked at the file now. Natasha's digging had been helpful. But the file didn't hold everything. There were parts that were still missing. The file was old, and ended when the Soviets had given up the ghost over twenty years ago. Steve had a better understanding of the procedures that were done to Bucky, the surgeries, the mechanics of his cybernetic arm. He knew that getting close to Bucky meant dealing with the arm, and that Bucky had gone through behavioral and psychological conditioning. It was a miracle that Hydra hadn't settled for simply lobotomizing his friend. Steve thought that it might have been a small mercy for James if they had.  
“Hey man, how was the run?” Sam asked casually, sidling up to one of the kitchen chairs before taking a seat. He opened the lap top before him.  
Steve shrugged, before he too sat with a sigh.  
Sam's warm eyes glanced over the Captain in what may have been concern. “You know, if we're going to disarm- no pun intended- Bucky, we're going to need some help. Anybody come to mind?”  
“Yeah, I know someone,” Steve stared into his folded hands, “But I don't know if asking his help will be a good thing or not though.”  
“You mean Stark?” Sam's mouth turned down, “Do you think he knows that Barnes is responsible for his parents' death?”  
Steve could only shake his head, “I don't know, but he'll know if we go to him, and he'll know that his parent's murderer is still alive at that.”  
“Steve, he has the right to know.”  
“If he's half as smart as he says he is, he'll know before I tell him.”  
The two soldiers sat in tense silence, Steve contemplating going to Tony before the alarm on his phone started to go off.  
“Sam.” He breathed. The Falcon was already on his feet.  
“I know, quick. Let's go before we lose him.” Sam jumped into his car, with Steve not far behind. Steve nearly crushed his phone he was holding on so tight.  
The message was still displayed on the screen.  
There'd been a sighting of a man at the Smithsonian. Mid length brown hair, blue eyed. A limp, one apparently injured arm, and another one that wasn't quite normal. Status; dangerous.

The Soldier, _that was who he was, ___swallowed to keep the nausea away. He stared at the wall of moving memories. The world fell away. The asset's chest heaved, as he stepped closer to the panel with his face staring back.  
He had come here to the Smithsonian to acquire knowledge about the target. Steve Rogers could have let the Asset die. Crushed beneath a steel beam as Project Insight crumpled in its death throes. But the target had saved him. When The Soldier dived into the Potomac behind the target _. . .Steve. . . ___a voice whispered. . . the weapon felt obligated to save Roger's life in turn.  
It was as simple as that. There was nothing else. He was not his target's Friend.  
What the hell was a friend? He was alone. He would always be alone, a cold red star who's only purpose was to serve death.  
But as the Asset stood, taking in the youthful expression and human face staring back, he felt a sense of familiarity wash over him.  
 _Sergeant Barnes, life long friend of Steve Roger laid down his life in service to his country. 1945. ___  
He lifted his mechanical arm, as if the image before him were real and wouldn't shatter into a thousand pieces. He touched the junction of the image's shoulder where flesh met flesh and _James Buchanan Barnes was still whole. ___  
The gears in his arm creaked.  
The Asset Shuddered, nausea clouding his vision more strongly now. There was something creeping up on him. Like a nightmare. The Asset, is that what he was? _The Target had named him. Put a name to his face, the same as the one before him._ Something warm traveled down his cheeks, pooled at his chin, and fell away. A cold rush of air hit him and the cacophony of sounds and smells followed. The Smithsonian came back into focus as The Soldier repeated a mantra in his head. _name...rank...serial number...name, rank, serial number, name, rank, serial number, name rank serial number—I'm crying?_  
The world slammed against him. The asset could hear a low whisper echoing through it all, “Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes...” He realized his own mouth moved with the words. Bucky looked back at the image long enough to take in the face that was staring back.  
He noticed a security guard watching him closely. The asset tore away from the exhibit. His weeks old injuries troubling him as he moved, but it was nothing compared to the crushing fear he felt.  
The target was telling the truth. _Steve had been his friend. ___  
The Asset had a name. A real name.  
This realization spurred him further from the museum. He ran until he couldn't feel his feet. His legs shook with each step until he crumpled on the curbside.  
Until the nightmare engulfed him, and each time the name, _James Buchanan Barnes_ echoed through his mind he trembled and shook in fear and pain. 

_–--_

_“Is the footage all you have on our man?” Sam's words faded into the chatter of the smithsonian._  
The museum director glanced nervously at Captain Rogers standing nearby, “Yes I'm afraid. We closed the exhibit early due to the incident. Security's been high around here since, well...” The man swallowed nervously. “Uh...if it isn't rude to ask, Captain Roger, Am I helping you on a matter of national importance? I sent the security guard who came in contact with the young man home.”  
“You didn't call the police?” Steve asked.  
“Well, no.” The director looked a little embarrassed. “It was such a minor thing, really, but my man Rudy was pretty shaken up. After everything that has happened here in Washington, I think everyone's been on edge. I'm not surprised some crazy waltzed in here. It happens sometimes. And after what went on with SHIELD, well, Violence attracts attention, and people who want attention seek out violence.” The director gestured around the Captain America exhibit room. “I'm not saying that this is the right place for it, but you were truly at the heart of that SHIELD thing that's been on the news for weeks. It's no wonder some misguided person saw you, and came here to learn everything they could.”  
“I don't want to encourage violence,” Steve muttered, “I just want to stand up for what's right.”  
“Well, there's a lot of people out there who have a lot of different ideas about what's right Captain. Sometimes they get the idea that if it's okay for you to go out guns blazing, they can do the same.”  
Steve shook his head, feeling just a little annoyed. “Well, thank you director. I'll keep that in mind. But this is a matter of national, and personal importance to me, and I need to talk with the security officer you sent home. You wouldn't happen to have his phone number would you?”  
“Of course, Captain Rogers,” The man pulled out a small card. “You can reach him at this number.”  
–  
Sam Glanced over at Steve who sat tensely in the passenger side of the car.  
“Steve, we're going to need help.”  
“I know Sam, let's just call the guy and see if there's anything else.” Steve took out his phone and began dialing the number.  
“Shit man, we're lucky he didn't lose it completely. Next time we might not be so lucky. How long do you think it will be before Hydra tries to bring its top assassin to heel?”  
“They wouldn't be able to get close to him again. He wont go back to them, now that he knows. Now that he has a choice.”  
“Yeah, well HYDRA doesn't need to use him, they just have to get close enough keep him quiet Steve.” Steve glared at Sam, and tried to ease the nervous tickle at the back of his throat as the phone connected.  
“Hello?”  
“Hi this is Captain Steve Rogers, I'm calling about what happened at the museum today. Could you tell me what you saw?”  
The other end of the line stayed quiet for a minute before the man on the line let out a ragged breath. “I'm so-sorry Captain America. I sort of lost it. But this guy comes up to my post and starts talking to himself. There was something strange about the way he stood, and as I got closer his eyes just seemed so...dead.” Steve's heartbeat sped up.  
“I was about to call in backup on my mic before I saw that he was crying. Just shaking and sort of reaching out to touch the picture framed in front of him.” Steve didn't notice that he was holding his breath.  
“And?”  
“and that's when the guy noticed me. I saw something metal flashing on his arm, and as soon as I did, the guy had pushed me out of the way and was gone.”  
The arm rest under Steve's hand creaked.  
“Did the guard hear what he was saying?” Sam was leaning in, his face was placid, but his eyes were as hard as steel.  
“Yeah. I heard him repeating this phrase. It was a name and army rank. But then I heard him say something else. I saw him say Brooklyn. Isn't that where you're from Captain?”  
Steve was mute. The arm rest beneath his hand tore abruptly. It was a minute before his heart remembered to beat again.  
“Yeah...yeah it is. I, I'm sorry I'm just a little shocked. I guess things have just been a little tense the last few weeks. Thanks for the help Rodney.”  
“Rudy.”  
“Oh, yeah. Well, have a good day off Rudy. Bye.”  
Steve hung up the phone and stared into his hands.  
“What do you want to do Steve? I feel like this is too simple. Guy shows up at museum, says Brooklyn, where you and he, grew up. Then he leaves, like he's going to run there on his own two feet?”  
Sam grabbed Steve's phone and started searching for contacts.  
“Sam what are you doing?”  
“We need backup Steve, we need to call Iron man. If there's anyone that will be able to help us it's him.”  
Steve frowned, “Damn it. I know. I know he's one of the only people I can trust, and that has the resources to help. Did you grab the file?”  
“Yeah.” Sam replied. Pointing to a computer bag in the back seat. “Looks like we're headed to New York.”  
“Yup.” Steve replied before sinking further into his seat. He felt a headache coming on.  
“With Tony Stark's help we'll be able to get to Bucky and cause as little harm as possible.” Sam put the car into gear. Steve rubbed the bridge of his nose wishing more than anything he could have his friend back. He hoped Brooklyn was where Bucky was was headed. 

_End_


	2. To Remember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The winter soldier doesn't know who to trust, not even himself.

the asset regained consciousness,  
he needed to return to the rendezvous point. Repairs were needed. His handlers would want to know why he had delayed.  
The asset needed to be evaluated. Wiped. There was a glitch in his programing.  
He had failed to kill his target. Pierce would demand to know why.  
Why did the thought chill him?  
He didn't want to go back to sleep anymore. 

“Son, son are you alright?”  
The asset raised his head from the ground slowly.  
“You said your name was James?”  
The asset flinched and retched on the ground.  
“James,”  
The Asset began to tremble in fear, he couldn't recall saying anything before waking. Had he said it while he was unconscious?  
“Pl-please stop.....” The name filled his vision with the phantoms of past torment. The syllables falling off the man's lips tied his stomach into knots. The Asset could feel the burn in his skin. His handlers repeating that name whilst beating him...or were they beating him because the asset had once spoken it himself?  
“ah okay...buddy, fine...what can I call you?”  
“'nything jus...not...” the Asset did not finish the thought. He pushed his torso off the ground. He expected a lab to surround him. The starched white coats, needles, and machines that had once subdued him should be poised to do so again. Instead, a middle aged man, dressed in blue with a badge on his chest, stared back.  
There was something about his eyes that reminded the Soldier of somebody.  
“Okay then. Look Buddy, I patrol this road, and when I get a call saying some homless drunk decides to take a nap, it's my job to move you out.”  
The asset stared back blankly, “Bucky.” He corrected the officer; He's not entirely sure why. But he is not Buddy. The asset knows this. Bucky was what the target had called him. It was written in the Smithsonian, next to his other name, but this one did not signal immenent pain. The asset did not fear retaliation by referring to himself in this manner. The name if he had to have one. . .was adequate.

The officer nodded.  
“Alright then Bucky, do you have any family or friends who you can call?”  
The asset, Bucky, creased his eyebrows vacantly. “....No?”  
The officer sighed. “Look, i'll let it slide this one time. I'll give you a ride to the nearest shelter. They'll give you something to eat at least.”  
Bucky snapped. “No. I have to go. I have to get to Brooklyn.” the name echoed in his mouth with foreign sounds. The asset flinched as if some invisible needle had pricked him. “...That's where I'm from. I have get back there.” He lowered his eyes to the pavement briefly.The weapon knew he was from Brooklyn. The plaques and names all read as much. He knew it was where James Buchanan Barnes had been born. But the concept of having been anything other than a weapon was foreign to him. There was nothing in his head that supplied familiarity. Or slipped to him a thread of identity.  
“ You're a long way from Brooklyn Bucky.”  
Bucky rose to his feet unsteadily. He felt the consciousness draining from him. “I can walk there.” The Asset shuffled forward, his left leg stiff from the cold night spent on the ground. The cop watched him struggle for a minute before stopping the soldier.  
“Son, are you sure there is no one I can call?”  
“Who would help me?” Bucky's voice was quiet and still.  
The cop sighed heavily before placing a hand on his flesh and bone shoulder.  
“Let me give you a ride to the bus station. I'll buy you a ticket myself.”  
Bucky flinched at the physical contact. He pulled away quickly, beginning to tremble all over.  
“Come on, get in.”  
“No.” Bucky repeated. The trembling was growing stronger. His mechanical hand twitched under its glove for the magnum tucked into his jacket.  
The cop stepped back and glanced at the soldier again, “I'll buy you something to eat on our way there. Just come along. It'll be a short ride, and you'll be on your way. I promise.”  
Bucky stopped, or rather his stomach growled belligerently at another mention of nourishment. He wanted to do what the man said. A part of him wanted to obey; he feared what would happen if he did not. A voice in his head screamed to run. Not to trust the man, not to trust anyone ever. He should run to ground like he had after the fall of the Insight Project. Nurse his wounds...resume the mission.  
But what was that? Everything that HYDRA had said was a lie. There never was a mission. Yet the weapon didn't know what else to do, so he made it his mission to find out the truth. Bucky could not argue with what, his target, Rogers had said. The Asset calculated his chances of escape in his state. He was weak, and recovering from several injuries that were slow to heal. The lack of food he was able to obtain and keep down left him disoriented. He felt tremors running through him sometime, and a need for something....a craving for some unknown substance that made him sweat at night. He turned towards the officer. “Why would you help me?” he asked softly.  
“Because Bucky, no one notices someone like you. No one cares. I want to do something to change that.”  
Bucky took a hesitant step forward. The cop had an easy smile on his face and a hand on his hip. That casual look resonated with Bucky and it made him think of Steve, the target, no Steve. Could he trust this man? HYDRA had lied, Steve had not. So far. Bucky couldn't tell what to think anymore. The last few weeks had been hard. He'd been lost, wandering DC, vaguely staying out of sight before gaining the courage to step into the Smithsonian. He was so tired. Making decisions scared him, this man could help him. . .  
The Asset looked down at the hand the officer rested on his hip. It was gripping something tightly, a gun, Bucky realized. He stared up in surprise, and saw the tense smile tugging across the man's lips. Bucky stepped away, his back connecting with the alley wall behind him.  
“Soldier.”  
Another figure appeared at the other end of the alleyway. She was cast in early morning shadows. Bucky grasped for his holster before realizing it was empty.  
Bucky looked at what must have been his gun in the officer's hand. Bucky looked between the two of them and began to form a plan of escape. He could scale the wall of the building in front of him. His arm creaked expectantly.  
“Soldier, do you know what you've done?”  
Bucky sucked in a breath. HYDRA had finally found him. He had been foolish. The Smithsonian had been too much, he should never have come out of hiding. “I'm not your soldier,” he hissed. “My Name is...” Bucky swallowed, “My name is James Buchanan Barnes.” He trembled with the rush that followed.  
The woman in the alley laughed. “That's great! It's given itself a name now! Do you know what happens when a tool doesn't work anymore?” There was an electric flash in the woman's hand, “You fix it,” the cop to Bucky's right had raised his gun to point at Bucky's head, “or throw it away.”  
The white flash sent Bucky over the edge. The weapon lunged out of the way of the cattle prod, and disarmed the officer in the next move. A bullet grazed his cheek before exploding into the brick behind him. His flesh arm objected to the movement and Bucky stumbled. A punch sent the officer to the ground unconscious, and he turned, magnum pointed at the HYDRA agent's head.  
“Who sent you?” He rasped.  
The agent laughed. “We always know where you are Soldier. You think that you can escape HYDRA? We created you, gave you everything and you betrayed our cause.” The woman beckoned to Bucky's covered arm. “There's nowhere you can run that we can't find you.”  
“What do you mean?” Bucky felt a wave of nausea roll over him. He pulled the safety back on the hand gun.  
“This.” She responded whilst taking out a small device.  
Pain racked the soldier's arm, and between the paralyzing bursts of electricity the gun fell from Bucky's fingers. He collapsed, shaking with the waves of electricity that rolled through him.  
He heard a cry and realized it was his own.  
The electricity faded and the woman repeated, “You will not escape again.” Bucky choked, his mechanical arm refused to move. Parts of it looked singed. He stared up at the woman who smirked down at him.  
“See, isn't that better?” She cooed mockingly before stepping closer. Her Heels clicked in front of his eyes. Bucky heard the buzz of a comm. “Target acquired. Be ready to stabilize.”  
He growled, slid the knife out of the sleeve of his flesh and bone arm and stabbed it through her foot. The woman cried out, and just as quickly Bucky grabbed the magnum, pulled the trigger, and—lightning formed in his eyes as the electric bar came down on neck.  
The weapon's vision went white, he heard the woman fall dead to the ground. Spittle pooled around his mouth. Bucky scrambled to his feet while his breathing seemed to escalate out of his control. His mechanical arm was an unresponsive, cold weight on his shoulder. The asset bent down, trying to regain that control. His whole body ached. His breath hitched as he grabbed the car keys from the woman's pocket and everything else of value. He limped slowly to her nondescript vehicle his breath finally under control. Opening the cab door of the small pick up Bucky felt the memory of driving coming back. He turned the key in the ignition.  
HYDRA was going kill him. He had shot an agent. He was a broken tool. But Bucky didn't want to die. As he drove he repeated his name like a small prayer,“James Buchanan Barnes, James Buchanan Barnes James Buchanan Barnes...” he never wanted to forget it again. Picturing Steve's face helped keep him together as he drove out of DC. Bucky would have to do something about the Agents who were following him. He had suspected his arm was traceable, but he hadn't known that they could control it like the woman had. Yet as the arm hung powerless at his side Bucky thought that she had pressed the button that had fried the mechanics. A last resort so to speak.  
Bucky knew that HYDRA would be waiting for him in Brooklyn.  
They would kill him, and although he desperately wanted to remember something about his former self his head said it would be useless to try. It hurt to think about. Yet he had learned everything that was necessary from the museum. James Barnes had been a good man, he'd been courageous, loyal, honorable, he'd been born and killed. The weapon was not innocent. He was not innocent because if he closed his eyes he felt nothing and killed, or begged senselessly to escape unendurable pain to point where even that was useless. He had nothing but a name now. It was like being a stranger in his own body. Steve had given him the name and that had been enough.  
Bucky no longer wanted to learn about James Buchanan Barnes, it would only make him wish to be something he was not. He remembered pain, and HYDRA had caused it. He would make them pay.  
His turn signal flared to life. If HYDRA was going to get him it would be on his terms. He would be ready this time, and he would find out who had destroyed James Barnes and left the Winter Soldier in his place. 

~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> casually slides chapter online before quickly retreating.


End file.
